


Scenes in Between

by you_and_me_mulder



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode: s03e07 The Bear and the Maiden Fair, Episode: s07e07 The Dragon and the Wolf, Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Episode: s08e05 The Bells, F/M, Fix-It, Harrenhal, Heavy Angst, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_and_me_mulder/pseuds/you_and_me_mulder
Summary: “I don’t know these men,” she murmurs.It takes a moment before Jaime comprehends. In all the chaos, he forgot how just this morning she fought off men forcing themselves on her. Alone, without weapons. She was dressed in a humiliating gown when she’s normally clad in armor even for sleep, dressed to be leered and jeered at by Locke and his lustful, cruel men, and then attacked - physically, mentally, and emotionally reduced from his proud, capable swords wench to a sell-sword’s plaything.A bear wasn’t her only nightmare today.***Scenes after the camera cuts away. Out of order, as they come to me. Mostly Jaime and Brienne for now.





	1. The Last of the Starks, scene 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I always wanted to be there when they execute your sister,” Lady Sansa says, eyes narrowed.

Brienne turns from watching Lady Sansa walk away. Sansa’s words cut him, much as Brienne believes she intended them to. Jaime lowers his eyes, and her heart tugs. She should follow Lady Sansa, but she’s drawn to comforting him. Sansa can wait.

“Jaime...” She crosses the distance between them in three easy steps. 

He looks up, a strained smile on his face. “There’s no love lost between those two. Lady Sansa is right in her anger.”

“Even so...” She starts, and he shakes his head. She steps closer to him. “Even so, it was not necessary. I’m sorry.” 

He huffs. “The Lannisters have done nothing to earn compassion. By the sound of it, Cersei will do her level best to ensure no one is endeared to us on her way out of the Red Keep,” he says, smirking and looking away.

She glances over her shoulder then back at him, lifting a hand to his face and breaking her unspoken rule around affection outside their quarters. Surprised, his gaze returns to hers and she sees the hurt still there, despite the bravado in his voice and the smirk on his face. 

“I cannot speak for what Cersei Lannister has earned,” she says softly, stroking his cheek. “But Jaime Lannister has proven himself, to me and to Winterfell.” 

She leans in, kissing him softly. “And I, for one, am certainly endeared.”


	2. The Dragon and the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck loyalty!!” She shouts, grabbing his arm...

Jaime hurries after his sister. _Stupid, infuriating wench_. What was she thinking, causing a scene where Cersei could see?! Where _everyone_ could see? Anything he would say to Cersei has lost all value - she will not listen to him now. 

He can practically hear his _sweet sister_ : “Are you doing her bidding now? Can’t think for yourself? A little lion puppet played by an ugly, giant cow’s hand...” 

In one fell swoop, the naïve girl has obliterated his chances of persuading Cersei to do anything she was not already prepared to do, and marked herself ( _once again_ , he groans) as an adversary to his sister. 

The thought turns his blood cold. He doesn’t know what frightens him more - the white walkers, or Brienne as Cersei’s new play thing.


	3. The Lion and the Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do not serve your brother, your Grace.”  
> “But you love him.”

The fear on the giant woman’s face confirms her suspicions. Perhaps other ladies would be afraid to confront this beast who considers herself almost a knight, but Cersei can see clearly the woman within: awkward and insecure, with no courtly smarts.

It isn’t jealousy (or so she tells herself) over the many days her brother spent alone with this beastly woman driving her to run off the cow, but rather the fact that she is the closest Cersei has ever felt to threatened for her brother’s attentions, and that will not do. The “Maid of Tarth” has overstayed her welcome, and she has grown tired of seeing her wander the halls.

Does the woman love her brother? Possibly not - she has an inkling it is nothing more than a mooning really, but who would argue with Cersei Lannister, especially today? Certainly not this wide-eyed, lesser house _lady_ who refuses to wear gowns or curtsy.

She watches as her opponent walks off, cowed into submission. That task is done, the great woman almost-knight has yielded.


	4. The Last of the Starks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then you have to drink. Those are the rules.”  
> “I told you...”

“I can hear you thinking.”

He stiffens at the sound of her voice and huffs. “I thought you long since asleep.”

She rolls over and faces him. “I was. Your thoughts woke me.” 

He fumbles under the furs for her hand and brings it to his lips. “My apologies, my lady.” 

She smiles apprehensively, then frowns. “Shall—shall we talk?” 

He leans in and kisses the tip of her crooked nose. “No.” He kisses her temple, and trails several more along her jaw. “No.” 

She sighs and pulls his face to hers for a proper kiss. “No?”

He smiles and kisses her again. “No. Can you explain to me how I woke you? So I don’t do it again?”

She returns the smile and lightly rakes her fingers down his chest. “Ser, you forget this is not the first time we have slept in close quarters. We have slept together tied to trees, atop a horse, and many a night on unforgiving wooded ground. Really, we are practiced at it.” Her fingers trail down to his hip, and he groans at her boldness and inches closer to her. “Well, perhaps not at this....but I am practiced at knowing you.”

He runs his arm up her back, pulling her warm, soft breasts and body flush to him, and buries his face in her neck. His nose finds her pulse, just above the scars on her collar bone and he softly bites. She gasps and sinks her nails into his hip. “Jaime, are you trying to distract me?” 

“Brienne, look at me,” he whispers. She looks down, apprehension and lust battling in her beautiful eyes. “I could never, ever regret this, or you. Let’s not discuss it again.”


	5. The Last of the Starks, scene 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So she’s going to stay here with you?”  
> (Pre-scene)

“After dinner wine with my brother, who conveniently forgets I exist past dinnertime.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Poor little brother. Neglected for company in this frigid hell. I have to say, it feels like a self-inflicted ostracism, seeing as how even Tormund Giantsbane has found someone to warm his furs.”

Tyrion smirks and takes a sip of his wine. _Gods_ , Jaime has missed him so. “Possibly.”

Jaime waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. The years and Tyrion’s exit from King’s Landing have fractured their relationship, and it hurts. Next to Brienne, he trusted no one more. He misses their open rapport. 

“Speaking of warm furs,” Tyrion starts, a gleam in his eye. “I hear yours are well cared for these days.”

“Is that so?” 

“It is! But you know, with the war done and plans set for the next, there’s little to do at night but sit around indoors, spreading idle gossip. I heard the most interesting tale the other day about a certain knight who has left his bedroll unused for nearly a moon now, and about the sounds and names yelled from the chamber of yet _another_ —-“

“All right, you Imp,” Jaime cuts across him, flushing. “All right. What don’t you know?”

Tyrion grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I have _surmised_ -,” he drags out the word. “-when. And the why is apparent to those who know you both. I would say I want to know....are you happy? And what are your intentions?”

Jaime looks down at his golden hand, glistening in the fire light, and weighs his options. Tyrion sets off tomorrow, and he has not discussed Brienne with anyone. The option is there to jest and deflect. Or, possibly, to begin rebuilding the trust between them.

“I’m happy,” he starts slowly, looking up. “I think, quite possibly, for the first time in my life. And that happiness isn’t something I intended to keep a secret, but Brie—she is to stay here, and I don’t want to tarnish her reputation.” 

Tyrion raises an eyebrow. 

“Well, more than I _quietly_ have done already.” He laughs. “And, of course, there’s the small matter of our dear sister. I’m not entirely sure she wouldn’t abandon her quest to retain her crown and send her army north for the head of one blonde knight if she were to hear this northern gossip.” Tyrion nods; it’s apparent the thought has crossed his mind as well. 

“My intentions are a point of contention. The lady and I differ in opinions, you see.” He looks his brother in the eye. “I believe she deserves better, but I have had difficulty reconciling that with my desire to never be parted from her again.”

He takes a gulp of wine, and breathes deeply. “I never should have led us into this, but it’s where we are. If I were anyone else, any more worthy man, I would have been able to take her to a sept or even the bloody Godswood weeks ago.”

“Don’t judge yourself so harshly, Jaime.” Jaime turns away from the pity in Tyrion’s eyes. Surely Tyrion knows he speaks the truth, and all he has done to earn it.

“As it is, I refuse to saddle the woman I love with _me_ , with the Kingslayer reputation or, pardon me, brother, with the Lannister name. She deserves so much more.”


	6. Two Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure we’re not related? Ever since I’ve returned every Lannister I’ve seen has been a miserable pain in my arse. Maybe you’re a Lannister, too. You’ve got the hair for it, but not the looks.”

She smirks at the comment before trailing after him. She has not seen much of Ser Jaime the last two weeks as he was convalescing, and surrounded by lords and ladies (and family) all desperate to spend time with _The_ Jaime Lannister.

She did stop in once early on to check on him, and was surprised to see him in bed, clean shaven and looking and smelling better than he had at any point in their time together. He grumbled about how the maester and his father insisted on bed rest until his wound stopped seeping. Something about not getting him home just to lose him to an infection.

As she sat down in the chair next to his bed, she could still smell _him_ through the cleanliness and beneath the sandalwood and hint of orange, the masculine musk that was just Ser Jaime. 

She did not stay long - they were interrupted by a flock of giggling, proper young ladies looking to catch a glimpse of the brave knight and swoon at the telling of how he lost his hand. Being the source of that particular story, she was grateful for her quick escape. Little did she know Jaime had yet to tell the truth on that front - he kept it private from everyone, his father and Cersei included, and instead told outlandish stories to anyone who asked.

Today is their first chance to speak alone and it hits her how much she’s missed him. His swagger has returned fully and he looks less like a blackened sell-sword and more like the alluring, cocksure golden lion she has heard of all her life. He is a sight, and, oh, he knows it. Even in this irritable (and irritating) mood, she’s drawn to him. “Ser Jaime!”

He stops under an awning to wait for her, rolling his head to the sky as he turns back to her, clearly frustrated. “Yes, Lady Brienne?”

“I—I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

He laughs uproariously, and she smiles herself. “Oh, gods, woman. Say it again. I may never hear those words from your lips again and I could use them on a day like today.”

This time it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Oh, you heard me. I don’t know the answer. I don’t trust that Lady Sansa is safe in King’s Landing, but it is quite possible there is nowhere safer for her. I-I do trust if she’s here you will protect her as well as anyone.”

He blanches at her words and glances down at the new golden adornment on his right, and back at her. “I can’t make any guarantees to her physical safety - I can’t even make guarantees to my own. However, I know my brother and between the two of us, she will be protected by our name and watchful eye.”

Jaime looks at her curiously before continuing. “If you are not in a rush to seek out revenge, perhaps you can stay on a bit until you’re comfortable with the arrangement, or can come up with a better alternative?”

Stay here, with Jaime, guarding Lady Sansa. For months she couldn’t wait to be rid of him and to return with the girl to Lady Catelyn. Now, though? Now....

“I think that’s a reasonable compromise, ser,” she replies slowly, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.

“Jaime. When we are alone, you and I are past titles, Brienne.”


	7. The Last of the Starks, last scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She is hateful, and so am I.”

Brienne sits on the edge of their bed, hunched over with her elbows propped on her long legs. The room is cool as the fire went out hours ago. She let it. 

It is still dark out her window, but she can hear scuffling beginning in the hall. Pod will be knocking soon; she won’t be able to hide in the meager comfort of the dark for much longer.

She hasn’t slept, but she feels she has wept herself dry, which is a small blessing, though her eyes sting from puffiness and her cheeks are raw from where cold tears fell on and off for hours.

Her stomach clenches as his words resound in her head. “ _She is hateful, and so am I_.” She failed him. He rides to his death because he truly believes he’s unworthy of living, that he deserves to die for his past and the actions of his sister. She should have ridden after him—she should ride after him now.

She breathes in deeply, steadying herself. No. He doesn’t want her with him, and she can’t leave Lady Sansa, not with another war pending. Most of the Northern army is gone, and those left are too weak to defend Winterfell, really. Bronn marched straight through the front gate, armed, for fuck’s sake. And that was before the armies left! Maybe if Clegane and Arya were here....but there’s no sense in bartering with herself now. She did not go, and she cannot go.

“ _She is hateful, and so am I_.”

Her thoughts circle back again to the darkest of places, spiraling uncontrolled in her mind. He loves Cersei more. He’s left her here, in the dark and cold, in their room, alone, to be with _her_. She mistook their time together to be more than it was meant to be. It was only a tryst.

Brienne shakes her head violently, willing herself to physically stop the onslaught. “Stop it. _Stop_.” Her chest aches and she clenches the furs as she lets out a sob. He loved her. He did. He _does_. She forces herself to remember him two nights ago ( _how was that only two nights ago_ ), before the cursed raven.

_She towers over him, hands playing along his chest as she slowly rides him. Most days, they are exhausted from the manual labor of repairing Winterfell and training soldiers, and their evenings are needy and frenetic, but she has found he’s particularly chatty and cheeky on nights where they are slow and sensual. And, oh, she would never tell him, but she enjoys hearing him talk._

_“Gods, woman. After a day of backbreaking work, you’re insistent on killing me slowly from your perch there.”_

_Brienne grins and nods. “Mmhmm.”_

_He squeezes her hips as his rise to meet hers sliding back down his shaft. “Do you know how I spent my afternoon? Shirking my duties and watching you walk around in head-to-toe armor, thinking of this body beneath it. How, if I timed it right, I could shoo poor, young Pod away and live out a fantasy of mine where we discover how little armor I need to remove before fucking you.”_

_She throws her head back and laughs, and Jaime winces at the uncomfortable pressure around his cock. “Sorry.”_

_She continues her slow movements, and he smirks. “I guess this isn’t a bad alternative.”_

_He runs his hand from her hip to the back of her thigh, squeezing and pulling her down at a new angle. She gasps and he arches into her, groaning. “Don’t misunderstand me, my lady. I’m grateful for the armor. Truly. Men dream of gorgeous long legs wrapped around them. It’s a fetish.”_

_“Is it now?” she asks, leaning over for a kiss._

_“Yes, indeed,” he says. “And the men would dream of these beautiful stems if not for the armor, which would not do. They’re mine.”_

_“Really?” she counters, pulling her legs closer to his sides and squeezing him gently with them, feeling his cock twitch inside her. “More muscular than any man’s and covered in freckles, a few scars to boot - that’s the dream?”_

_“Beautiful,” he murmurs, hips rising up, and she starts her slow pace again._

_She grins, leaning over him, a jape on her tongue. “You know what men say, ‘Never trust a woman’s beauty from a man in lov—‘“_

_She freezes, cold washing over her. They haven’t spoken those words, and she knows, just knows she has gone too far. She’s such a fool!_

_Jaime’s eyes widen as he watches her reaction. He sits up suddenly, his eyes never leaving hers, and wraps his arm around her pulling her tightly to him, putting his good hand to her face. “Yes,” he whispers, fiercely. “Gods, woman, yes. Don’t you ever doubt it.”_

She crumples to the bed, curling up on her side, agony stricken, and the tears start fresh. How is it possible the good memories cause more pain than the bad? 

_How could he love her and leave her to go on without him?_


	8. The Bear and the Maiden Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She belongs to me, Lord Bolton’s orders.”
> 
> “What do you think is more important to Lord Bolton? Getting his pet rat a reward or ensuring Tywin Lannister gets his son back alive?”  
> ***  
> “Sorry about the sapphires.”

They ride swiftly and in silence, not daring to stop until they are far enough from Harrenhal to ease their nerves. Locke’s men outnumber them four to one, nearly all ruffians and sell-swords as well. As their party left the dilapidated castle, Brienne told them of the fight she put up before being thrown in the pit. Between the bruised egos and disappointment in having the day’s entertainment cut short, there are few doubts they are being pursued.

When Jaime finally slows his horse he takes stock of Brienne, who is bleeding at the neck under the hastily wrapped bandage with blood-tinged blonde, wavy hair wild around her face. His gaze wanders down to her legs riding astride in her skirt. The ragged, muddy pink gown wasn’t long enough when she stood, and seated, the missing length means her pale legs are bare up past her knees. ‘ _She looks ridiculous_ ,’ he thinks, then feels himself harden slightly. ‘ _And, fuck me, I am ridiculous._ ’ 

He shakes clear his thoughts. “We will rest here a bit, water the horses, and let Qyburn tend to Lady Brienne,” he calls to the group as he dismounts. 

“I am no lady,” she growls, scowling and chin jutting out as her face reddens.

“Not with that face you’re not,” Jaime laughs. He reaches for her, and she gawks down at him. 

“You can’t be serious!”

Stunned, Jaime jerks back at her blunt dismissal before remembering how incapable he is of actually assisting her from her horse. As if on cue, his handless stump throbs at the motion, and he stifles a groan, pulling it to rest at his chest. 

“My lord, let me take a look,” Qyburn says, reaching for Jaime. Jaime turns away from the maester and inclines his head towards Brienne. “Take a look at her first. A festering bear wound will negate all my heroic efforts rather quickly.”

He glances up and is greeted by concern on her face, mixed with something else. Remorse, is it? Pity? Another of Bolton’s men steps forward, awkwardly uncertain as he also reaches up to assist her from her horse. 

“Oh, piss off! I can dismount by myself!” She slides off her horse and walks to Jaime hesitantly. 

“Ser,” she says, quietly. Remorse it is, he decides. Good, he doesn’t want her damn pity.

“Jaime,” he counters, gravelly. 

“The maester really ought to look at that. We’re a long way from King’s Landing and we can’t risk you falling ill again.”

“Nonsense.” He dismisses her with the wave of his good hand. “It’s clean and bandaged well, wench. Sit and let Qyburn look at you so we can keep moving.” 

She frowns and stands staring at him stubbornly for several moments before she acquiesces, dropping ungracefully to a spot on a log near Qyburn. The gown pulls tightly through her shoulders and at her hips, and exposes those long, muscular legs again. They’re thicker in the thighs than he remembered from the baths. 

_Probably from all the riding she does_ , he thinks. _The least she could do is try to sit like a lady, for fuck’s sake._

Jaime looks away and realizes he is not the only man who has taken notice. He steps in between Brienne and Bolton’s leering men. “Next town, we will replace that tattered gown with a tunic and breeches.”

****

Miles down the road, Jaime breaks the group’s silence with a roaring laugh. Brienne, looking much more comfortable in riding pants and a man’s tunic, startles beside him. “What?!” 

“I told you once I only rescue maidens,” he replies, grinning stupidly.

 _“What??”_

“Maidens. I told you I only rescue maidens. And there you were, unable to defend yourself for quite possibly the first time in your life, in great peril with the most dangerous of beasts thirsting for your blood, and in a pink gown!” He throws his head back and laughs again. 

Brienne sputters beside him. “Wha...this...it’s funny to you, is it?! You think yourself a noble knight because you tried to recklessly sacrifice your life alongside mine?! I assure you, my saving you from drowning is more aligned with rescuing a helpless maiden. And I’m sorry to disappoint, but never, not once in my life, has anyone called me anything close to ‘fair maiden!’” 

“Recklessly sacrifice my life?!” 

“You could have died. So, yes.”

Jaime smirks again. “But we didn’t.”

“We bloody well could have,” she counters. 

“A pink gown, a wooden sword, and a bear,” he insists, playfully. “If that’s not the work of a gallant knight rescuing his maiden, my lady, I don’t know what is!” He bites back his mirth as she clenches and unclenches her jaw, huffing indelicately, her disbelief and embarrassment growing. 

“Call me ‘my lady’ one more time, Jaime Lannister, and Sevens help you, you’ll be needing rescuing from this maiden!!” She kicks her horse and gallops off to the front of their party, Jaime’s laughter trailing after her. 

****

One of Lord Bolton’s men throws his dinner bones on the fire then stands to stoke it. Another stretches and walks off in the woods to make water. “I’ll take first watch,” the stoker says, eyeing Jaime and Brienne. Jaime nods, throwing his own bones in the fire before rising and walking between the clusters of men to retrieve two bedrolls. He brings one to Brienne, who accepts without looking up at him.

Jaime claims an area near a large oak, still close enough to the fire to keep warm. Unrolling his pack, he looks over to where Brienne sits, unmoved. He fluffs his top fur and makes his way back to her. 

“Not tired?” He lowers himself to the ground. She looks up and in the firelight, he can see her beautiful sea blue eyes are wide. 

“I don’t know these men,” she murmurs.

It takes a moment before he comprehends. In all the chaos, he forgot how just this morning she fought off men forcing themselves on her. Alone, without weapons. She was dressed in a humiliating gown when she’s normally clad in armor even for sleep, dressed to be leered and jeered at by Locke and his lustful, cruel men, and then attacked - physically, mentally, and emotionally reduced from his proud, capable swords wench to a sell-sword’s plaything. 

A bear wasn’t her only nightmare today. 

How many men have tried to bed or force themselves on Brienne the Beauty, he wonders. How many have sneered at her, laughed at her, then tried to conquer her? 

Remorse and guilt build up in a knot in is stomach. He was one of those men. And yet, she now has only him to trust. _Gods, he’s an unworthy ass_.

He swallows, then nods. “You’re right. We don’t. Shall we put your bedroll here beside mine? I’ll take the first watch.” 

“I can take care of myself,” she grouses, looking away, seemingly embarrassed by her confession of weakness. He takes a moment to consider his words.

“That may be, but we’re unarmed and I’m down a hand. We would be better off together.” 

She doesn’t respond at first, and he has started formulating another argument when she nods once, curtly, so instead he stands and walks back to his tree. _Best to let her come to him on her own terms, don’t push the matter_. 

She follows a few minutes later and opens her roll beside his, furthest side from the fire and their escort party. He leans against the tree and she lies down, facing away from him. Her shoulders belie her tense state and he fights off the desire to brush the hair back from her face. 

Jaime surveys the camp and is pleased to note the men can’t see Brienne over him and the tree roots. He pulls at his fur awkwardly and covers her. She burrows into it and he watches as she relaxes shortly after. 

By the time the other men settle in, Jaime is convinced she’s asleep when Brienne rolls over beneath the fur and presses her forehead to his hip. He freezes, not wanting to wake her. She doesn’t move, and the contact becomes too much to resist. He finally relents, reaching down to move the hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear.

He forgets how young she is when standing eye level with her. 

He places his hand on her crown and strokes her hair softly, and he feels her press her forehead against him. 

“Thank you,” she whispers thickly, so quietly he nearly misses it. “For everything.”

“It was an honor, my lady,” he whispers back. 


	9. Two Swords, scene 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keep it. A one-handed man with no family needs all the help he can get.” -Tywin Lannister

Jaime marches from the room, the sword in his left hand. A completely useless weapon to a one-handed knight, to be sure. Jaime also is sure if he could wield the magnificent weapon he would have been tempted to lop off his father’s head right there. Home barely a fortnight and he is attempting to kick Jaime out of the position he has served for nearly 25 years, and estrange him from his family and his sister! He just returned to them! He knows he is worthless to the Kings Guard - he doesn’t need his father’s reminding. At least Cersei will understand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one! I’ve got a longer one in the works but I do love some “Jaime returns home” drama.


	10. The Bear and the Maiden Fair, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Help! The Kingslayer!!”
> 
> “Jaime, my name’s Jaime.”

Three guards charge in at the sound of her cries, and she waves them out again just as quickly. “Get the maester! GO!” 

She supports Jaime gingerly, juggling to keep his head and bandaged arm out of the water. “Ser Jaime. Ser. Ser Jaime.....Jaime...”

He’s fevered and unresponsive, but at least he’s buoyant in the water, though she’s certain she would have no troubles lifting him on land in his emaciated state as well. She maneuvers his weight closer to her, enough to free a hand, then pools water in her palm. She lets it drip slowly on his face, continuing to softly repeat his name. 

Jaime comes to well before a maester arrives. His face is ghostly white and his skin has turned clammy, which is a relief from his fevered condition not minutes before. Brienne settles down on the bath seat, holding him to her, and lets out a relieved huff. “Ser Jaime?” 

His eyes roll as he struggles to lift his head and focus on her. “Brienne.”

“How are you feeling?” 

His eyes flutter until they’re less clouded and more alert. “Better, now that I know I haven’t drowned.”

She smirks. “It was close.”

“Sorry I ruined your bath,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning back into her arm.

He still looks ghastly, but now that he’s come to she’s hyper aware of his body against hers. It’s not sexual; hell, it’s not even sensual. It is, however, the most contact she’s experienced with anyone and her mind is spinning. She was terrified when he walked in to the bath, naked as his name day, and now here she sits, his body leaning against hers. Even the word _naked_ rolling through her mind has made her nervous and she becomes increasingly uncomfortable. _’Stop thinking,_ ’ she chides herself. _‘Breathe and focus on helping Ser Jaime, you fool.’_

“First bloody bath in gods knows how many moons, too,” she japes. His eyebrows lift in surprise and he offers a weak smile in return. 

“At this rate, it might be our last for a while at that,” she adds. “Do you think we can get you cleaned a bit before the guards return with the maester?” 

Jaime nods, and Brienne eases him back into a sitting position beside her on the bench. She snakes her arm from behind his head and gently leans him against the wall. She quickly moves away, breaking all physical contact, equal parts relieved and disappointed at its absence. 

Befuddled, she looks him over as her mind fumbles to reconcile the man she now knows him to be with the the cocksure, brazen ass she led around on a leash for days on end. He’s an amalgamation of the very worst a man can be and the good knight he’s kept hidden away. 

Above all, she reminds herself, he is still her charge. She reaches for the lye soap in the dish and quickly sets about washing his arms, his neck, his chest, and then wordlessly moves to washing his legs, then feet, all the while ensuring the only part of her body to touch his are her hands. 

She treads through the water back to him and sits on the bench. Brienne steels herself before wetting his hair, then runs her fingers through the matted, stringy mess. Her fingertips massage his scalp and he sighs, his breath hitting her chest above her breasts. She freezes, and he opens his eyes, meeting hers. Her stomach drops with a swoosh, a feeling she hasn’t experienced since Renly. Those eyes. Those gorgeous emerald eyes. They have captivated her since the beginning, but now....now they shine with something akin to trust and they’re stunning. 

He reaches up and covers her hand with his, and the swoosh turns into a fire in the pit of her belly. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Hush now.” She squeezes his hand, then lets it fall gently back in the water. She finishes his hair and pushes it back from his face. This is no more than she has been doing for him for a sennight, but it is markedly different. 

But then again, so is she.

A cacophony of running footsteps begin filling the hall and she starts to move away. “Don’t...” Jaime says. “Stay. Please.” She nods, once, as the soldiers charge in again, with Qyburn quick at their heels. 

“He fainted, ser,” Brienne starts. 

Qyburn nods. “No doubt. That’s not a scratch you have there, my Lord. Not the smartest man, moving around so soon after my treatment earlier. You shouldn’t be up at all.” 

Jaime leans into Brienne, his back against her breast, and emboldened by the day, Brienne wraps her fingers around his upper arm, stroking it with her thumb, supporting him as Qyburn kneels down and ascertains Jaime’s condition. 

“He’ll live. He needs a bed and probably a nursemaid to ensure he stays in said bed,” Qyburn tells the guards. Two of them start towards Jaime and Brienne tightens her grip on his arm. “Gently, please,” she snaps, as they pull him from the bench. 

Jaime’s hand brushes across her naked thigh, over the scar he left there, and a jolt of lightning shoots through her leg and her core. She hops out of the tub after him and is stopped by the third guard. “You a nursemaid now as well as a knight?” He chuckles at his joke while she turns from him to grab a towel. 

“I’m charged with his care,” she snaps back.

“Not tonight you’re not. You’re off duty.” 

The two men carry Jaime from the room, conscious and weak, but clean. The guard minding Brienne grabs her arm and roughly pushes her in the opposite direction. 

“Get your bloody hands off me!” She wrenches at her arm but he firms his grip and propels her forward. Her other hand holds a towel around her body or she would physically break and remove his fingers from her. 

The guard roughly pulls her up a spiral staircase and through a dilapidated door. There’s a bed, a canned fire, a partial roof, and not much more. “Your accommodations for the night. Courtesy of Lord Bolton.”

“My armor,” she demands. The man scoffs.

“That towel’s it until we can scrounge up something decent for you to wear, _my lady_.” He mock bows as he closes the door behind him.

Brienne huffs, and manages a few leveling breaths. She takes a moment to take in her room and feels the cold air hit her wet skin. Gooseflesh follows, and she dries off quickly, then grabs the meager blanket from the bed as she walks over to the fire. There’s a small, broken chair in the corner and she pulls it closer to the heat. It’s still not warm, but she’s less concerned about catching her death so long as she has the fire.

She wraps the blanket more tightly around her naked legs and closes her eyes. She takes a deep, calming breath and the last hour swiftly floods her thoughts. What in the bloody hell just happened?!


	11. The Last of the Starks, one more time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ser Jaime has chosen to stay here, as a guest of the lady of Winterfell.”
> 
> Pre-scene

She stretches and yawns, slowly waking beneath the furs on her bed. Her eyes open to find Jaime on his side, staring at her with a lazy grin. She’s overwhelmed with awe and twinges of hope. She didn’t sleep enough to believe she dreamt it, but it’s no less surreal to wake up to Jaime in her bed, wearing that soft, affectionate look. Her heart leaps and she offers him a sleepy grin in return. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Been awake long?” 

“Only a few minutes.” He brushes the hair back from her face and strokes his thumb down her jaw to her lips. She leans into it and kisses softly.

“It’s quite pleasant to have a day off from our commitments, but I’m not feeling particularly rested this morning.” Brienne ducks her chin shyly, remembering flashes of their night of not sleeping. 

“I haven’t had a day off in years. I have been up before the sun nearly every day since I was ten and six. You?”

“Aye, nearly as long.” 

“I’m thinking breakfast and a nap are in order, my lady.” He leans in for a kiss and turns to rise. “After I sort through this mess of clothes strewn across the floor, I’ll fetch breakfast. You stay put. One of us should experience lying around in bed after the rooster crows.”

“Will you go?” She blurts it out before she even realized it was at the forefront of her thoughts. “Will you leave Winterfell now?”

Jaime’s brow furrows and his smile disappears. He sits back down on the bed.

“I only mean,” she worries her bottom lip, afraid to press on. “The Great War is over and Queen Daenerys will want to move south quickly. I-I know you rode north to fulfill your promise, and that is done, isn’t it?”

Jaime takes his time, and her heart pounds harder with the passing seconds as she watches him think through his response.

“I didn’t exactly have the queen’s blessing when I rode away from King’s Landing.” He hesitates, his tone serious. “I have responsibilities, Brienne, that I left behind in King’s Landing. But it’s not something I need to address now. I am no longer the Lord Commander, and her cause isn’t my fight anymore. That said, I won’t take up arms against my sister either.”

Brienne nods, partially relieved. “Where will you go?”

He looks away, thinking. “The Rock? It’s in a state of disarray, but it is the only other home I’ve ever known. I couldn’t be lord, Cersei wouldn’t allow it and I wouldn’t want to be, but I might be of use to the people there, especially now.” 

“It sounds like a good option,” she says, looking away, hiding her disappointment from him. “Very responsible of you.”

He smirks at the reference. “Is it now? And what do you suggest? Anything less responsible?”

She raises her eyes to meet his. The words are on her tongue - she could ask, be so bold, so presumptuous. She’s spent the night being bold, wanting and taking and needing, but only because she could look in his eyes and know he wouldn’t reject her. There are no such certainties now. Gods, it was one night. One bloody night! If he says no? She’s hesitant to risk her heart....but he’s here, isn’t he? He’s still here, this morning. With her. But if he were to say no....

“You could stay?”

He grins widely, and laces his fingers through hers. “Could I?”

She squeezes his hand, thankful for the slight reassurance. “Mmmm. I’m sure there’s something for a one-handed, aging, sharp-tongued knight in a war-torn castle.” 

“Oooof. Well, if you think no one here has need of me....” He slowly starts to stand, cocky grin still on his face.

“I need you,” she murmurs softly, and she feels her cheeks growing warm. 

“Sorry?” He stretches lazily, the firelight catching his lithe body at angles that make her ache. He looks back over his shoulder at her. “I didn’t catch that?”

He knows he’s beautiful. _I wonder if he knows he’s ridiculous as well._ “I said, you great oaf, that I need you.” Her face hurts from smiling, and her cheeks are now burning. This is twice now in two days he’s left her overwhelmed with joy and she could burst with it.

He turns to her and cups his ear. “One more time, my old ears aren’t what they once were...”

She laughs and grabs him around the waist, pulling him down on the bed and back to her. He chuckles and wraps his good arm around her. Brienne settles into the crook of it and presses flush against him. He lets out a low growl that travels straight through her to her core.

“Stay.” She kisses him lightly. “Here. With me, in the bloody north.” 

He returns the kiss, deepens it, as his hand plays in her hair. “Let’s see if that can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone get tired of “Last of the Starks”? Is that possible??


	12. The Bells

A round of laughter brings Sansa back to the present and she tilts her head to the source. Several northern men and Pod are sincerely entertained by something she’s missed. Lady Brienne, seated beside Pod, smiles politely but it doesn’t warm her face or reach her eyes. The squire glances up at his lady knight and his laughter dies. Sansa can see the pity on his face from where she sits.

It has been a sennight and her sworn sword remains despondent. It has no impact on her work ethic or her outward demeanor as others see her, but Sansa can plainly see the broken heartedness writ on her face. Sansa hurts for her, yearning to relieve her friend’s pain, but knows all too well only time helps. Eventually.

Sam approaches her from a door to the right of the great fireplace. “My lady, a raven arrived for you. It’s a message from Jon.”

“Thank you, Sam.” She unrolls the scroll, thankful for some word from the south and just as quickly finds her relief is short-lived.

Sansa’s eyes dart back to where Brienne sits and finds she has already gained her attention. She nods slightly and both women stand to make their departure for privacy. Safely in Sansa’s chambers, she gestures to a chair for Brienne as she takes a seat beside her.

“My Lady?”

“I have news from the south. None of it pleasant, I’m afraid.”

Brienne shifts slightly in her chair. “What is it?”

“Ser Jaime has been taken hostage.”

Brienne’s eyes widen and her brow furrows. “Ho-hostage? Off the King’s Road? Surely he would be more careful than that? Despite everything, I don’t think Queen Cersei will kill him. She wouldn’t....”

Sansa covers Brienne’s hand with her own. She’s right. Blackened as her soul may be, Cersei loves her brother too much to have him killed for his transgressions, but it speaks volumes to Sansa about her friend, that she found relief in the knowledge that the man who broke her heart is alive because he’s in the grips of the other woman.

 _A woman he sought after I drove him there_ , she thinks, tinged with guilt. She strokes Brienne’s hand and grips it tightly.

“I’m afraid it was another queen, my lady, and not Cersei. Daenerys’ men captured Ser Jaime before he arrived in King’s Lansing.”

Brienne sucks in a deep, sharp breath. “No.” Her hand shakes slightly beneath Sansa’s and her voice hitches. “Oh, gods, no. Sansa...no. She will have him executed. I have no doubts.”

Neither does Sansa.


	13. Mhysa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From “Dark Wings, Dark Words.”
> 
> Jaime: “A bit of a quandary for you. If you kill me, you fail Lady Stark. But if you don’t kill me, I’m going to kill you.”

“On the bridge, you said you would kill me.”

Jaime stops stoking the campfire and quirks his head in her direction. She’s staring into the flames, elbows propped on her knees. She looks....contemplative. The bear’s claw marks peek over the top of her collar and appear even angrier in the fire’s light. 

He throws the twig into the flames and wipes his hand on his thigh.

“Clad in manacles, half starved from a year in a cell and rusty as I was, I didn’t stand a chance. I was hopeful I would get away but not confident,” he smirks. 

“Did you mean it?” She turns to look at him. 

Ahh, there it is. The moon they have spent together since Harrenhal has strengthened their trust, but she still has remained guarded. He’s been biding his time, hoping to push through whatever holds her back, and here it is, a day’s ride from King’s Landing, laid before him. 

“I knew then, my lady, that my best weapon was my tongue. You were formidable and I knew it. But no. Unless you were to fall from my verbal swords play, I didn’t mean it.”

She mulls over his response, searching his face. 

He scooches closer to her. “I did not have the appreciation for you then that I do now, Brienne. You have done more for me than I can ever repay. How could I have known then what an honorable, kind, albeit tenacious soul had taken me captive?“ 

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Really, Ser Jaime...” 

He holds up his hand and cuts her off. “I’m more sorry than I can ever say for how we started this journey, but as it is what brought us together, I can’t regret it. Can you?”


	14. The Iron Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, y’all! Thanks for joining me on this wild ride!

Tyrion watches as Lady Brienne takes an early leave from dinner. It’s been five days since the meeting of the lords and ladies at the Dragonpit, and he hasn’t found a moment to speak with her alone. The Red Keep has been a bustle of activity with the Unsullied preparing for their exit from King’s Landing and the new Stark king and his equally new entourage moving in.

And, truth be told, Tyrion spent a majority of his first days of freedom stretched out sleeping on a luxurious, oversized feather bed, which felt much like therapy to his aching joints and back after a moon in a cell.

He sympathizes with Lady Brienne and envies her inconspicuous exit. Dinners have been stilted, dull, and uncomfortable affairs. King Bran will not say much and eats less, preferring to spend most of his time observing the goings on of the hall.

Several of the older lords gather at one end of the banquet table, with entire meals meticulously spent drawing out every painstaking detail of rebuilding their homes and holdings. Tyrion feigns interest long enough to make it through the first course, but he has come dangerously close to falling asleep in his soup listening to the old fossils monotonously drone on.

Arya is rarely seen at the dinners and when she does appear, Gendry (truly the only person Tyrion can tolerate in long periods while sober) becomes scarce.

Sansa, on the other hand, dutifully sits beside her brother each evening, but her resolute glare is more pronounced in the south and her jaw is clenched so tightly he’s surprised she bothers to eat. She hates the Red Keep, even when its halls are filled with her people.

He can hardly blame her. He would choose any place, any fate, over the sentence handed down to him. The halls are filled with ghosts, memories that ache to his core. The weeks since the final battle have wrung him dry of tears, but he’s despondent, restless. He will give Westeros his mind, but there’s little left of his heart. He has lost his entire family in this Keep, and here he stands, the last Lannister in his line. A traitor.

No, he can’t blame Lady Brienne for stealing away from their present company, but he’s desperate to see her alone, to gauge firsthand her well-being. What’s more, he selfishly longs for even a few minutes with someone he knows understands his loss.

“Forgive me, your Grace. Tonight I’ll be calling it an early evening.” He bows lightly at King Bran, then turns and repeats the motion at Sansa. She raises an eyebrow and he offers her a rare genuine smile.

“Your Grace. Please, enjoy my dessert along with yours.” She rolls her eyes, rewarding him with a half smirk, and his smile grows. He can’t help himself; she’s the one beacon of light he gleans from these days. He is proud of the woman she has become. It’s a wonder to him how the sweet, naive young girl of lives past managed to survive this place and so much worse. He turns and makes his way towards Brienne’s chambers.

The Red Keep is a hollowed shell of its former state; disrepaired hallways lead to caches of rooms miraculously still standing. Tyrion keeps to his small room near the king’s equally small chambers, to the great hall, and a few other spaces in an attempt to safeguard his sanity - not that it helps much. There is hardly an inch of this place that isn’t swimming in memories of his father, his siblings, or, gods forbid, the children.

His search for Brienne takes him directly into the heart of the knights’ quarters, rooms overwhelmingly saturated with the sort of memories he would just as soon avoid. Dread knots in his stomach. _I should have drank more wine_.

He locates her chambers and knocks, pushing wide the open door.

“Lady Brienne!” He clasps his hands together and grins broadly, greeting her with more gusto than he intended. Aside from one unforgettable dinner, Brienne has always presented herself with propriety and solemnity.

“My lord.”

“Tyrion, please.” A shadow passes over her face and she offers him a small, grim smile. 

“As you wish.”

He settles into the chair beside hers near to the balcony. “Congratulations are in order. I can think of no more deserving a knight.”

She nods curtly. “Thank you. It is only temporary, more a long term consulting position to assist King Bran with returning stability and order to Westeros, though he insisted on still giving me the title. Eventually, I’ll return to Tarth.”

“Really? I had not heard.”

“Aye, ultimately my duties have always required I return home and there’s not as much calling for a knight in peacetime.”

“No, I suppose not, though historically, peacetime has proven to be fleeting. I’m sad to hear of it - I was looking forward to working with you.”

She nods her thanks and he purses his lips as he grasps for another line of conversation. “I hope you don’t mind my prying. I have long wanted to visit with you, to know how you’re fairing?”

She looks him over curiously, then answers cautiously. “I’m well. As well as can be expected.”

 _To hell with it_. “For someone who’s had their heart ripped out, I’m guessing?”

Brienne huffs, surprised at his tenacity. “That’s presumptuous of you, ser.”

“Is it? My apologies, I thought I recognized a kindred soul.”

She doesn’t respond and Tyrion begins to fear he’s overreached. He licks his lips and waits, hoping....

She eventually nods, and amends her statement. “As well as can be expected for someone who has had her heart ripped out.”

Tyrion stands, walks over to her carafe and is disappointed to find only water. “I saw him after he was captured. Did you know that?”

“What?”

Tyrion fills a glass with water and hands it to Brienne. “I did. Daenerys wanted to use him against me, to bait me into finally betraying her.”

He returns to the carafe and fills himself a glass. “Perhaps that is wrong. She knew exactly what I would do. I did not disappoint.”

“What did you do?”

He takes a long swallow as the familiar ache and rising guilt returns in his chest. “I set him loose. I thought I knew best. With all my scheming and planning, I thought there was little danger in him entering King’s Landing and rescuing Cersei.”

He glances up at Brienne and sees her jaw set, the anger building in her face. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what Daenerys would do but I damn well should have. I should have left him chained up in that tent and he would still be alive. Instead, I tried to be clever, to save them both, hell, to save the whole damn city! My cleverness lost me everything; it lost me my family.”

Brienne lets out a derisive laugh and leans back in her seat. “If you didn’t free him, someone else would have. You’re no more to blame than I am, Tyrion. Though, good luck convincing either of us of that. He loved her, and he could be so very stubborn.”

He sets down his drink and turns toward her. “Cersei had 40 years to poison his mind, to convince him he was worth less without her as his other half. He sacrificed himself over and over, from the time they were six and ten years old, because she told him to. But I remember when he returned with you to King’s Landing after being captured. He was different, uncertain of their....relationship. He struggled to change and she fought to squash it at every turn. Riding to Winterfell, alone...I was so sure he finally broke those binding chains. In fact, I knew he had! It wasn’t love that brought him back here to Cersei. It was guilt...”

Tyrion stops short. Does she know? Certainly she knows. How could she not - surely Jaime told her? After the confrontation during Missandei’s capture, Cersei’s pregnancy was not a well kept secret amongst the troops Brienne herself commanded. Either way, it is not a discussion Tyrion wants to have, now or ever. Jaime’s final transgression was a disappointment to Tyrion, but even more so, an insult to this woman Jaime loved.

“...and responsibility,” he finishes carefully.

Her eyes drop to the floor and her chin quivers. “Responsibility...” she murmurs to herself.

Brienne shifts in her chair, adjusts her tunic, and glances at Tyrion, her eyes brimming. “He was a complex man. I knew that. I did. Loving him was complex. I had—“ she stops and composes herself before beginning again. “I had _hoped_ if I loved him enough, it might counterbalance the guilt.”

The ache in his chest pounds with her words and he stifles a groan. Stupid of him, thinking knowing he had a companion in his mourning would relieve this pain. Instead, it has only served to intensify it. “You are right, my lady. I’m no more at fault than you are. I just miss him so damn much.”

“As do I.”

Tyrion quirks an eyebrow at her and smirks. “You know, my relationship with Cersei was complicated. We spent most of our adult lives wishing the other dead, and some days, planning those murders. But Gods help me, I miss them both. I’m the last now, and it’s an isolating, suffocating feeling, being here, being alone. The last of the Lannister name.”

She turns her head towards the balcony windows and closes her eyes.

He turns as well and takes in the sun’s beams on his face. He forgot how stunning the views could be from these rooms in the evenings. The mixture of the cool breeze and the sun warming the beautiful white floors, with the gulls cawing in the distance is peaceful. He spent countless evenings here, silently watching the sun set with Jaime, just basking in each other’s trusted company.

“You’re not,” she says quietly, breaking his reverie.

“Sorry?” he asks.

She laces her fingers and gently rests them on her abdomen. “You’re not,” she repeats, voice lilting.

His thoughts bumble around, grasping for purchase, then the fog clears. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline and his mouth gapes. “Truly??” he gasps.

She nods, chin wavering, and a tear beaks loose.

“I-I-I.....truly?! My lady, I had no idea....”

She lets out a small noise, just short of a sob, and softly wipes her cheek. “Not many do. My return to Tarth is personal as much as it is political.”

“Who, may I ask, will you say is the father?”

Brienne’s cheeks redden, and she shoots him a look of consternation. “Jaime’s child shall bear his name,” she replies curtly. “I cannot deny him another opportunity to be recognized as a father.”

Stunned, Tyrion leans back into his chair, the familiar ache joined by a leaping of his heart. _Jaime’s child_. A piece of his brother still living, a child he could have claimed.

“Did he know? No, of course not, forgive me. That’s a silly question. He never would have left if he knew.” 

She glances hesitantly at him, clearly not as certain. “He wouldn’t, my lady.”

Brienne looks down at where her hands rest on the barely noticeable swell under her tunic.

“He will miss it,” she whispers. “All of it.”

“That will be the greatest of tragedies to come from this.” He pauses and the full magnitude of what has been lost hits him, another mourning of its own right. “Jaime would have loved this child as much as he loved it’s mother.”

They sit in silence a while, Tyrion’s mind still swimming. For the first time in weeks, he feels something other than hollow despair. A twinge of happiness. He shakes his head and grins at her. 

“A child born of Jaime Lannister and Ser Brienne of Tarth. He or she will be magnificent.” Brienne laughs and wipes another tear from her cheek.

“May I call on my niece or nephew?”

She reaches out and grasps his hand. “Please do, and often. Although, we will need to discuss your choice of games.”


End file.
